


it’s a long way to go (but in the meantime)

by darksideofmyroom



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, References to Depression, Self-Worth Issues, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Unreliable Narrator, this is just me sleepily rambling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 20:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksideofmyroom/pseuds/darksideofmyroom
Summary: Peter has tried his whole life to fill shoes too big for him.





	it’s a long way to go (but in the meantime)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is a small drabble I wrote for the prompt “I’ll take you home” it’s kinda rough and I barely reread it, but that’s just how I do it.  
> Hope you enjoy anyway!

Peter has tried his whole life to fill shoes too big for him, but there’s always a gap, sometimes a void, that he can’t manage to make disappear.

 

He’s never ready.

Not at six to live without his parents, not at fourteen to see Ben die, not at seventeen to save the world and definitely not at nineteen to be his own person.

 

He’s never ready and he’s never enough, and sometimes Peter thinks he’s a glitch in the code that makes up the universe.

He’s small, barely noticeable, but  _ there  _ enough to cause things to fall apart and crumble.

 

The thing about now (and now is lonely, now doesn’t know what it feels like to be loved) is that he’s even less than himself and consequently that makes him more dangerous to other people, he just needs to touch them to make them explode.

 

Peter has always tried and failed to fill shoes too big for him, but the thing about now is that not even his own shoes fit anymore.

 

And he’s never been good at pretending, he can’t lie through his teeth, so maybe it’s for the best that May and Tony are miles away, because they would see instantly, and he can’t handle them knowing he’s just a shell.

 

All he has to do is bite his lip through the phone calls and force himself to remember the way he would’ve answered to their questions a year ago, force himself to be  _ him  _ again, just for a while, even if it hurts.

 

He still loves them. Of course he does.

Sometimes that’s the only thing he knows for sure.

He loves them with every heartbeat, though they sound vain, somewhat empty; he loves them more with every minute that he survives.

 

But he doesn’t want to see them, maybe ever again, because they loved their child more than anything else in the world, and Peter feels like he’s buried him alive, like he’s taken him away from them.

 

They would hate him now, he’s just a painful reminder of what once was, a disturbingly worn out relic.

 

The months pass and Peter keeps his head on his books.

He memorizes them, he passes the exams, but he doesn’t feel any joy or any satisfaction as he succeeds.

 

Sometimes he wonders why he still goes through the motions when there’s no purpose anymore.

He could just go home, and stop his chest from getting incredibly tight at night because of nostalgia and the longing to feel warm again.

 

Then he remembers he has no other option.

He burned his own home, watched it disappear into the flames and the smoke.

He killed Peter Parker and he killed Spider-Man too, for good measure, and now he’s here with blood on his hands and a clock in his mind that chases time, while he throws it out the window.

 

He doesn’t stop moving but his heart is on pause.

The world follows its own rules and Peter slows it down, he’s a rock between the cogs.

 

He sees ghosts from time to time, particularly on Wednesday evenings and Sunday mornings, when he finds he can no longer ignore the bottles that he otherwise keeps on lock.

 

He sees ghosts, because that’s what people who are dead but still breathe do, they hang on to nothing concrete and hold on to the past way too tightly.

 

And that’s why sometimes Ben sits by his side and they watch cars go by and Peter doesn’t tell him he’s sorry, but he does say he’s alone and that he misses him so bad.

 

Ben never talks, but considering the way he looks at him, Peter’s glad he doesn’t.

 

So Peter sits with ghosts on Wednesday evenings and Sunday mornings, but that doesn’t explain Tony Stark on a Saturday afternoon.

 

At first he thinks his mind’s being unfair to him, that it’s playing cruel little games on him, and it hurts to know that he’s closer to Ben than he is to Tony.

 

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he’s sixteen and unsure how to distribute the weight of his responsibilities on his shoulders; calloused fingers brush his overgrown hair away from his eyes, and it’s late nights and pouring out his heart, settling it down on Tony’s lap.

 

Now there’s strong hands around his torso and it’s _ Tony _ .

 

It’s Tony and Peter, like it’s supposed to be.

Except it’s not, and though they fit just right, just like before, Peter’s just a fraud. He’s not Tony’s kid anymore.

 

The tears come without warning and Peter lets them run him over. He doesn’t bother getting his legs to keep him up anymore, and they crumble under his weight.

 

Peter’s supposed to fall, he’s supposed to hit the ground, but he doesn’t; Tony holds him up, all panicked and concerned and always ready to catch him, no matter what.

 

But that won’t last, because soon, he’ll  _ know _ .

He’ll know and he’ll leave because Peter took his son away from him, and he remembers Tony whispering into his ears, ever so softly but just as fiercely, that anyone who ever hurt him would pay the consequences.

 

“I’m sorry” he tells Tony, but he’s not sure he can understand through the sobs, so he says it again, not much more clearly “I’m sorry Tony”

 

“It’s okay, kiddo. No reason to be sorry, yeah? It’s okay, I’m here. Hey, I’m here, just breathe”

 

Peter doesn’t believe him, but he still curls into Tony’s chest, closes his eyes shut and cries himself to sleep.

  
  
  
  
  


He wakes up to the sound of Tony’s voice, and for a split second they’re in a different world, in which Peter can feel the light of the sun on his skin and the silences aren’t loud, but comforting.

 

The voice feels like a slap in the face and a caress simultaneously, a perfect picture of sound that represents all the love Peter once had, which is all the love that he’s thrown away.

 

Tony’s sitting next to him on the bed, his fingers running through Peter’s hair absentmindedly.

Peter tries to capture the feeling, take a bit of this peace, this fullness, and save it for later.

 

Tony keeps his words at a low volume, perhaps trying not to disturb Peter.

It takes a while to realize he’s on the phone, a few seconds longer to understand he’s talking to May.

 

“I’m worried about him, May. He’s definitely struggling and I know he’s not getting the help he needs”

 

Peter plays with the words, he lets them run through his head and do cartwheels.

 

_ Tony’s worried. _

 

He doesn’t know why he latched on to that, in particular.

Tony always worried about him, and Peter used to spit out half truths and hand him bad excuses wrapped up with good intentions to keep him from doing just that.

 

He never considered worry now, never even took it into account, yet here’s Tony, still concerned.

Still caring.

 

“What do I think we should do?” Tony repeats what was probably May’s question to him.  

He sighs.

 

Peter holds his breath, and it’s like waiting for the judge’s verdict in court.

Except the final decision doesn’t come yet, and maybe it’s worse, but at least it’s familiar. It’s unsure and frightening, just like every step he takes.

 

“I don’t know, May. I don’t know”

  
  
  
  


Tony makes him breakfast and he calls him Pete; it feels nice, and therefore it must be wrong, and Peter can’t get his hands to stop shaking.

 

“Are you okay?” asks Tony, and Peter wants to gag at the sight of the concern in his eyes, at all the undeserving love his features hold.

 

And the truth is Peter’s not okay but it’s not important, because it’s his own fault his shoes don’t fit.

He’s not big enough anymore, his heart withered and he gave up trying.

 

So now it feels unfair to hide it, because Tony deserves the truth, if that’s the only thing Peter can give him.

 

“I killed him” he blurts out, fast and all at once, like ripping off a bandaid, pulling out a tooth.

 

Tony stops for a second, his eyes wide.

“Who?” his voice is still soft and patient, and God, Peter can barely handle it.

 

“Peter Parker” his breath hitches just slightly “He’s gone, I killed him. And I know you’re gonna hate me for it, but I swear, I didn’t mean to do it”

 

“What are you even talking about, Pete?” Tony catches his hands from across the table “You’re still Peter Parker. Always, no matter what. And you’re my kid, too, forever. That’s never going to change, do you understand? You’re still you, kiddo, why would you even think otherwise?”

 

Peter opens his mouth to reply, but Tony speaks again before he can say anything.

 

“You know what? I’ll take you home. You’re coming with me. Take a break, see May. And we can sort through whatever it is that you’re struggling with, because I’m half freaking out over it and you look like shit. What do you think, Pete?”

 

Peter’s brain is stuck on the thought of home, which is really May and Tony and it usually feels so out of grasp, but he’s so close to having it back again now and he can’t let the chance escape him.

 

“It sounds good” 

 

He doesn’t smile, but he feels like maybe, maybe he just could, and it’s a start.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you feel like it, I’d love for you to let me know your thoughts on this.  
> And if you want to comment a prompt or an idea, request, anything really, that you would like me to write, please do! I’d love to give it a try.


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